Mother Of All Road Trips XX*: Samaritan Sleight of Hand in the Holy Land

That the lands of the eastern Mediterranean are known to the world as a ‘Holy Land’ must surely belong to a unique order of quandary.  From ancient times, rival groups have met here on these fields and hills, laying siege to its cities in the vain hope of inscribing their names in some dubious honor roll.  Consider the Battle of Jericho, celebrated in song.  Consider the clash of empires – Assyria, Babylon, Persia, Greece, Rome – followed by the Crusades and, yes, down to our own times, the blood-letting and treachery graven on the inheritance of generations.  It is a wonder that any grace, any shred of the sacred, survives between the lines of such histories.  But now and then, in the footnotes, there survive stories of just desserts outlasting the rogues. 

The Damascus Road led north from Jerusalem bringing us to the white dwellings of Nablus, riding a saddle between two prominent hills.  The story of these two summits is closely bound to a tiny religious minority, the Samaritans, for whom this town has been a historic home.  In the old quarter, down cobblestone alleyways shared with donkeys, we came to a historic stone structure – the Samaritan synagogue.  A few words with bearded elders – and some baksheesh – caused them to disappear into the recesses from which they carried out a cylinder containing a truly ancient scroll.  The case, laid open in the light, revealed a manuscript of yellowing parchment swathed in emerald fabric and rolled by ornate silver knobs.

If experts are to be believed, the Abisha Scroll may be the oldest known copy of the Five Books of Moses (the Pentateuch or Torah), writings sacred to both Jews and Samaritans, and venerated by Christians and Muslims as well.  By reckoning of the Samaritan elders, the scroll comes from the hands of a scribe not long after Moses himself, which would make it impossibly close to 3000 years old.  Those of scholarly mien concede it may predate the time of Christ which makes it roughly contemporary with the Dead Sea Scrolls.

Whatever the provenance of these writings, it has not escaped the notice of eager entrepreneurs what dark money is chasing such antiquities.  Sometime after our visit, the news emerged that the renowned Abisha Scroll had been burgled, hustled away into the night in what must have been an inside job.  The faithful were appalled. The world of textual scholars professed dismay.  Sleuths went to work on the scant clues.

In time, a cheeky story came to light.  It turns out the Samaritan elders – who are ‘elders’ for good reason – knew full well that the treasure entrusted to them was at risk.  At their direction the authentic Abisha Scroll had already found a home in a secure vault far away.  The one kept on site for display, the one paraded forth to visitors and even for sacred occasions on their holy mountain was a convincing replica.  The thieves were left holding an artifact of only modest value.  Their embarrassed identities remain a secret.

And we innocents who had earlier passed by to stare in wonder at a sacred text that defied the centuries are left to ask whether we had laid eyes on the authentic Abisha Scroll, oldest Torah known to the world, or if the elders had been stroking their beards knowingly as they displayed its decoy to credulous travelers.         

*This Traipse series, ‘Mother of All Road Trips’, recounts an overland journey by car including four school-leaver chums in the summer of 1965 traveling from Karachi (Pakistan) to Rotterdam (Netherlands), a journey that would be almost unthinkable in our times.